When Dr. Lou Jordan answered the phone, on the other end of the line was Bob Pezzano, the ringmaster for all 15 annual Schenectady Schools' Athletic Hall of Fame dinners.

"Pez,'' as he's known by many, called to tell the good doctor he was being inducted into the hall at last fall's dinner. In brief, Jordan was, without doubt, one of the best ever basketball players to come out of Mont Pleasant High and Cornell.

He lives in Virginia Beach, where he practiced orthopedic surgery until his recent retirement. He tells Pezzano he's not been back to Schenectady since leaving town for Cornell in 1955 because GE transferred his father out of state.

The two men, who had never before spoken to each other, engaged in lengthy small talk. "Pez,'' out of curiosity, asked Jordan where he lived during his high school days. Jordan said Niskayuna. "Pez'' said, "Me, too.''

The next logical question is "what street?'' Jordan said Baker Avenue and — you guessed it — "Pez'' said, "Me, too." Come to find out, "Pez'' is calling from the same house where Jordan lived before going to Cornell.

"I can understand how two strangers connect and learn they're from the same town and street,'' Jordan said when I called him the other night. "But to discover we lived in the same house is really small-world stuff.''

Before the induction ceremony, Jordan was driven past his old high school, a building he said still looked nice. "But much of the Mont Pleasant neighborhood, including some vacant houses, has gone downhill. Its failing is a shame.''

Sportswise, a major recollection was a $6,500 contract offered to Jordan by the Detroit Pistons in an era when $9,000 was the NBA average. He opted out for med school. "Bob Cousy and Wilt Chamberlain were getting peanuts at about $25,000 compared to today's multimillion contracts,'' he said.

Jordan, also a Cornell Hall of Fame inductee, couldn't say enough good things about the Schenectady Hall of Fame program. "It was an exceptional occasion with absolutely no room for improvement,'' he said.

He praised Pezzano, a tireless volunteer headmaster of the event since its inception, and his workers. "People don't realize running the hall and dinner is a year-round job.''

Shovel during daylight

Our residence has been on the same corner lot for exactly the last 50 years, which led me to believe I had witnessed most every kind of neighborhood happening. Not so.

In the midst of that late December snow blitz at the ungodly hour of 5:25 a.m., the loud doorbell chimes started ringing. I'm upstairs writing at that weird hour because I've worked overnights most of my life. My wife is downstairs sleeping, like most folks do at that still hour.

Comes another blast from the noisy chimes as I'm struggling down a flight of stairs with just two thoughts in mind. First, I figured it's some kind of emergency situation. After all, what other kind of happening could it be at 5:30 a.m.?

Certainly not UPS or the ghost of Ed McMahon with a winning sweepstakes. Second, I want to stop the ringing chimes from waking my slumbering spouse.

I whipped open the door expecting the worst. Walking away in the darkness is a young bearded guy who hollers back, "Do you want your sidewalk shoveled?'' My shouted response can't be printed in a family newspaper.

During our half-century here, snow shovelers never, ever came around until after 9 a.m. And they never came in the midst of a storm. Instead, they always waited until the snowfall ended.

In order to avoid a similar startling annoyance, I've made a door sign stating "no snow shovelers needed.'' Now I have to hope the pre-dawn shovelers can read.

Before he was chief

The appointment of Brian Kilcullen as Schenectady police chief was a good move in my estimation. He's a no-nonsense cop I've seen in action a few times.

Most notably, I recall several years ago when a mini-riot broke out at the conclusion of the annual St. Anthony's Festival, an event with no history of street disorders.

A few dozen people, mainly men in their early 20s, started out taunting each other before exchanging blows. Some were jumping on the roofs and hoods of parked vehicles belonging to combatants.

I was on the scene and recall more than a dozen police units from various jurisdictions responding to a call for assistance.

I also remember Kilcullen, a lieutenant then, moved into the heart of the skirmish. He put two of the battlers on the ground and, with assistance, helped handcuff both. He moved back into the melee shouting orders to split or be arrested.

The outburst ended almost as quickly as it started and before the many responding cops had to become involved.

Farewell to Johnny's

I know I'm not alone in being sorry to learn Johnny's Gourmet Ices' owners decided to shut down for good their Broadway shop in downtown Saratoga Springs.

Carrie and Johnny Scungilli developed a regular following, especially of local customers, since opening several years ago. "If there weren't so many dessert/ice cream stores on Broadway, we would've stayed,'' Carrie said. There are about a half-dozen of the shops in downtown.

Latest coming aboard will be Kilwin's, a chain of about 80 confectionery shops, scheduled to open in the fall. Kilwin's will locate in a new multi-use building to be built next to the landmark Lillian's Restaurant.

"The large franchise store coming in was the last straw,'' Carrie said. "But we already miss our customers.'' Incidentally, the Chocolate Mill, a bakery/confectionery, has moved into Johnny's old spot.

Surviving Sandy

Morgan Lyle, former crackerjack Daily Gazette Schenectady City Hall reporter, was in the middle of Hurricane Sandy on Long Island, but came away safe.

"It was real crazy down here between the destruction, lack of power and gasoline shortage,'' he wrote in an email swap with me. "Thousands and thousands of huge trees down. I've never seen anything like it.''

Lyle, in more recent times, is the assistant public relations director at C.W. Post University. His wife, Cindy Chin, is a copy desk editor at Newsday. She's also a former city editor of the Saratogian.

"We were able to help a lot of friends do laundry, charge their cellphones, check their email and just hang out for a while in a house with power and electricity,'' Lyle said.

He said his family was spared serious household disruption because they do not live near the ocean. "We were only without power for one night — we were very lucky.''